


All the Boys to the Yard

by alizarin_nyc



Category: Angel - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-07
Updated: 2006-06-07
Packaged: 2017-10-15 02:35:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/156152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alizarin_nyc/pseuds/alizarin_nyc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Faith wants things she isn't supposed to have.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All the Boys to the Yard

“That kid creeps me the fuck out.”

“You didn’t have to come along, Faith.”

“Awwwwww, Angel. You know I love a good stakeout. Wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

“It’s not a stakeout. I’m just checking up on someone.”

“Yeah, Angel, that kid. The creepy kid with the… the eyes and the perky bod. Even though he’s a dude.” Faith rolls her eyes at him. Since when was Angel into guys? Well, except for Spike.

“Not perky, Faith. Not creepy.” Angel had his own reasons for what he was doing, clearly, and was just as clearly keeping them to himself.

“What _is_ creepy is you stalking him like some kind of pedophile or something.”

Faith lets the silence drift between them for a good five minutes. Well, it feels like five minutes. “Jesus, Killer, let’s go grab a beer or somethin’. This is boring.”

Angel ignores her. “I don’t get it,” Faith says. “Honestly. We kill some big bads, we go out for burgers, then we end up taking a detour to the fucking ‘burbs to spy on some kid.”

“Which is why I have always encouraged you, Faith, to drive your own car.” Angel is firm but distracted. Faith doesn't really like being around people who are always distracted. Especially when it's Angel.

“You won’t let me drive one of your fancy roadsters, so why bother? This is LA, by the way; with all the traffic, we’d definitely get separated and then you’d be all whiny having to kill stuff on your own.”

“I don’t whine, Faith.” Angel presses his lips together and his eyes never leave the fast food joint that the kid had disappeared into a few minutes before.

“Oh please,” she goads him, “You’re the king of whining. You’re kind of a broody, whiny, little bitch, truth be told.”

“Shut up, Faith.” There is absolutely no heat in Angel’s response.

“Come on, Killah, why are we here? This guy Buffy’s new boyfriend, or somethin’?” Faith laughs loudly but Angel doesn't take the bait. He sits as still as a stone, eyes never leaving the thin figure of the boy.

^^^

It’s almost exactly like that time she was hanging out at Sunnydale High. She’d always wanted to _see_ – see what Angel saw in Buffy – like she wants to see what Angel sees now, in this kid.

She's always wanted to know what it is Angel sees.

She's loitering on school grounds, waiting near the wire fence when he gets out of class. She notes the casual waves to friends, the easy way he slings his clean brown backpack over his shoulder. He walks home from school; she knows that at least. He lives barely a mile away, with Moms and Pops and the two-point-five kiddies, a dog, a yard, dinner at six and all that good little boy shit.

He passes though a park to get home and so Faith skirts around and ahead and it's easy to skim behind the bushes and trees and she pretends she's in a huge hurry. Slayer timing means she rounds the corner and knocks right into the kid – but it's harder than she expected and she goes all the way down, faking a wince at an imaginary pain in the arm that absorbs the fall.

“Hey, are you alright? I’m so, so sorry.” The kid is all blue-eyed regret and concern.

He helps her up and says, “Connor,” when she takes his outstretched hand and shakes it formally. She gives him her best wide-eyed innocence, a tiny smile with dimples and a flash of her short-skirted leg. He's _history._

The blush looks good on him. He maneuvers her to a park bench so that he can make sure she's okay.

“Quite the gentleman for a – what are you? 15?”

“Eighteen,” Connor lies easily and gives her a cocky smile. Faith figures she can lie as well, then, if he's gonna go in that direction.

“Twenty,” she replies. “College.” She gives him a shrug and a smile, hoping her eyes don't give her away as an older but wiser woman.

“Yeah,” Connor says. “Sure. Which one?”

Faith blurts the first one that comes to mind, along with a silly major that she assures him she isn't even sure she wants to pursue. She keeps up her end of the conversation, enticing him with favorite bands, least favorite classes, cars they want their parents to buy them, whatever it is kids talk about these days. _Jesus_ , Faith cannot believe these spoiled brats with their iPods and crap.

Still, it is all too easy to sit there and let the lie of another life wash over her. It's easy to pretend she's a perky co-ed, a veritable _Buffy_ , who's excited to be talking to a cute boy with gorgeous blue eyes and neat khakis.

She shakes off the feeling of being in someone else’s skin. This boy has Angel’s attention and now she has his.

“Want to come to my house for dinner?” Connor asks suddenly, looking at his watch. “My parents aren’t home and if I order pizza my bratty sisters will leave us alone, pretty much. I just have to check on them.”

“I love pizza,” Faith says.

^^^

Faith likes skin, likes it a lot.

Robin Wood has dark mahogany skin with taut, smooth muscle that flexes just beneath. She remembers wearing Buffy’s sunny sweet-smelling skin – of course – and how cool was that? But wrong, definitely wrong. She knows that now.

She admires Angel’s pale skin and even Spike’s, on occasion; the way it’s bloodless but not blue, living but not vibrant.

Faith also likes to touch skin, to feel the slide of skin-on-skin; the taste of it under her tongue, the friction of fingerprints.

This kid Angel’s watching turns out to be quite soft. He _feels_ like a young thing, like a colt, maybe. She can see the flush that comes up over his cheeks as she brushes against him as they trail up the stairs to his room, feels the wild heat of his boyish energy as they pass each other -- her graceful, him skittish -- through the door where she perches eagerly on the edge of his boy bed and he slouches low in a chair near the desk.

All of his stuff is cool.

Faith takes a moment to admire the slim computer panel, the flat screen television, the full to bursting bookshelves and neat, closed closet doors. An attentive mother, or a housekeeper, she thinks. Yet still the bed retains the smell of a male and has the rumpled look of a kid that rises early to face the day.

She leans back, slowly, keeps it light, but likes the way his eyes flicker over her hair and skid down to her breasts and then quickly back up. She lets him take a nice, long look. She wants to see, he wants to see. It’s all good.

He stays in the chair. He chats about school. His hand rubs absently at a tiny spot of pizza grease on his shirt.

Faith suggests he take off the shirt to soak it. He comes back in a thin white tee. She slips off her sandals, claiming she’s got sore feet. He inquires about her injured arm and she lies and tells him it feels a little bruised.

He moves over to the bed to inspect her wrist.

Faith hasn’t found out a damn thing about this kid. She hasn’t gotten a thing she’s come here for and seriously, what is the deal with Connor? What could Angel possibly want or need from this kid? He _is_ amazing, with his pretty eyes and his full lips, but Angel doesn’t do that sort of thing anymore, and he’s got fucking everyone at Wolfram  & Hart as his beck and call, even the pretty little Fred, and the sexy-as-hell Gunn, and it’s just not like Angel to brood over some suburban kid.

She looks Connor over once again.

His hair is kind of long and hanging in his eyes, and God, he really is a pretty thing. Faith knows she should leave, but she’s not. She’s not even thinking about leaving really, and suddenly she’s kissing Connor, gently, lightly and not at all in the way she normally likes to kiss someone.

This is not at all what she normally likes. But he tastes pretty wonderful, and that's what's keeping her in the game. That's what's distracting her.

What did she come here for anyway?

And who the fuck cares right now?

His limbs feel skinny but strong under her fingers and now he’s letting her kiss him deeply, his tongue is exploring her mouth, and he’s a novice, but it’s really nice and it’s kind of hot. He reaches up and presses her hand against his bicep; his long fingers are covering hers and pulling her, practically lifting her across the space between them to him. His skin is on fire. She can feel it and his pulse is jumping under her hands. He wants the touch as much as she does.

Connor’s computer flickers to sleep mode and the room goes slightly dimmer. Modern romance, Faith thinks wryly.

She pushes him down on the bed and begins to strip him. His t-shirt comes off quickly and his skinny arms are wrapping around her, but she puts him off and goes to work on the khakis. He’s down to his boxers when he whispers to her, “This is too fast.”

“Hey, no problem. I can slow down for you,” Faith says. She’s beyond caring if he thinks she’s twenty or thirty. “You just tell me what you want.”

His eyes darken and his hands tighten around her waist. She’s still dressed, straddling him, but she can feel it all under her skirt, the hardness and the wetness and it would be so easy to overpower him right now and do whatever she wants.

“You just tell me,” she says.

“Oh God,” he says, “Oh God, you’re so beautiful.”

Yeah, Faith thinks, yeah I am, and Angel doesn’t realize. Angel doesn’t care about her and Robin left her and this kid is making her feel like a million bucks.

Connor kisses her again, pulls her into him, places her hands down on his chest, again he presses them into himself, like he’s starved for touch, but also like he really knows where he wants to be touched. As if someone has already shown him.

He’s starting to poke out of his boxers and Faith is right there with him. Her skirt covers them, but a quick sweep with her hand and her underwear are off to the side and his dick is hard and bare against her. His head falls back against the bed and Faith knows she’s been given the green light. Up and forward and back and she’s taken him into her, pushes down onto him and his eyes roll back in his head, he’s gasping and growling low in his throat.

He’s very primal. Faith can appreciate this. Whatever age you are, it doesn’t matter, because sex is hard-wired. She rides him hard. She doesn’t care if he comes right away because she can either come now or come hours from now. He surprises her by lasting for a while and joining her with steady, eager thrusts. He grips her hips with superhuman strength, and she senses that if she wasn’t made of Slayer material, it would be too much.

Eventually he looks up at her, his neck corded and straining, but his eyes are fierce and the brightest blue. She clamps his thin body between her thighs and feels his strain as he tries to hold out. He’s not lacking in size where it counts and she feels the pressure of his cock inside her, along with the friction of his bunched boxer shorts that are rubbing rough right where she needs it and _hello, happy accidents._

They come together, Connor grunting and gasping, Faith murmuring low and appreciative, “Oh yeah, baby.”

And then it’s all over.

^^^

Angel never does find out.

Faith learns slowly, bit by bit, hint by hint, until the picture is made clear and is finally in the end, not all that surprising.

Connor comes to Angel, inevitably, and Faith stands next to Wesley and looks through the glass at Wolfram & Hart like she’s looking through a picture window into the near past. He’s the same gawky kid, with the same fluttering eyelashes, but he’s frowning at the world he’s just now learning exists.

He’s a quick study, though. Faith could have told Angel that, but she wouldn’t dare. She may not be the sharpest knife in the Slayer’s arsenal but she knows enough about Angel to know that he would resent her intruding on – not to mention fucking – his pet project.

And now that she knows who Connor is, she bows out of the intrigue surrounding him and shrugs off Wesley’s attempts to discuss the mysterious boy and the equally mysterious memories he can’t seem to find a place for.

Faith has always been good at putting the past behind her, sure. There wasn’t anything between her and Angel anyway. It wouldn’t have ever gone down that way. Plus, she certainly can't touch Angel now. She fucked his _kid_ for Chrissakes. Not that he’s got time for her now with Nina in the picture and the fate of the world and all. There’s just no way that’s going to happen. Not now, anyway. It’s a closed door.

 _Oh well._ There are lots of doors to open in the world and anyway, it doesn’t matter. They're busy bringing down the Big Bad and Faith is _all in_ on that, and so it’s good that Connor has Angel looking out for him. He’s a pretty cool kid, after all.

She doesn’t really have any regrets.


End file.
